Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Twenty-Eight

The basement was mostly unfinished, dimly lit by well windows and empty except for stacks of sheet rock and buckets of paint. I sighed, the burning in the back of my throat seeming to intensify with every minute that passed. I turned to just go back upstairs, then decided it couldn't hurt to circle around once.

Rule #18: Always take the time to look.

I know that seems really similar to Rule #11, but it's different. #11 is defensive, almost to the point of being violent. It's hard and abrupt, meant to be quick almost to the point of inefficiency, but not quite there.

#18 is slower, softer and is more or less the step that comes after you've completed #11.

I wanted to cheer when I found the half-empty flat of water bottles next to what looked like an abandoned work station. I practically pounced on it, tearing a bottle from its encasing plastic and emptied half of it before I remembered that I needed to breathe too.

When I could actually convince myself to stop drinking, I slowed down and finished with slow, small sips, just letting the water soak in. Pure heaven.

"Raleigh?" Shane called down the stairs. He'd probably heard my mad scramble to get the water.

I picked up the case after tucking my new knife into my back pocket, and hauled it up the stairs. I set the case down and tossed a bottle to Shane, who held it for a second, just staring.

"You're supposed to drink it," I said a little dryly, but couldn't help the laugh that escaped at the end. It's funny how excited we get over things that used to be so common place once upon a time.

Shane rolled his eyes at me, then drained the bottle in about two seconds. He sighed, eyes closed and I practically crowed, "So checking one last house was stupid right?"

Shane opened his eyes, struggling to keep his face serious. "Absolutely." He gave up with the straight face and grinned. "But I'm telling Kyle it was my idea."

I made a face at him, then threw another bottle at him, then another, laughing. He caught both easily, and started tucking them into a bag he must have found upstairs. Shane held up a finger signalling me to wait for a second since I was about to throw more at him, and I watched as he pulled out a package of some sort.

My mouth dropped open when I saw what it was.

Peanut butter cookies.

"Do I win?" he asked innocently. The jerk knew my complete and utter weakness in the face of peanut butter anything.

"Where did you find them?" I breathed, snatching the package from him, cradling it to my chest.

He laughed again as we started packing the water into the backpack he'd found. "Hidden in one of the rooms, in a chest at the foot of the bed. Kid must have stashed them there." He shrugged. "If they came in here," Shane looked around at the already ransacked cabinets, "then those bastards weren't very thorough."

My smile dropped when I realized he was talking about the men we had almost run into. I was silent a moment too long and Shane looked up, his own smile fading. He waited, muscles a little tense, like he already knew what I was about to say.

"We could have helped him."

"What?" Shane sounded a little resigned when he said this.

"We should have helped him," I whispered, looking out one of the windows.

Shane shook his head, shoving the bottles more tightly into the pack. "No."

"What?" I asked this time.